Traveling
by Twirl
Summary: Eugene had told Vincent that he was traveling too. And he intended to. Oneshot.


The house felt strangely empty with Jerome gone. No, it was Vincent. Vincent the Invalid. Vincent the de-gene-erate. Vincent Anton Freeman.

Vincent… the man who's on a one year mission to Titan. To space.

The real Jerome Eugene Morrow wouldn't be there to greet him at years end. Vincent would come home to emptiness. An empty home, an empty alcohol cupboard and an empty wheel chair.

Eugene had know what he was doing when her walked out into the street. In front of the car, and knew what he was doing now.

Perhaps the car wasn't going fast enough. Perhaps when the car got close, Jerome unconsciously tried to stop himself from dying. The doctors told him he was lucky. Lucky it was only his legs that didn't work. Lucky he wasn't dead.

Fucking morons. Didn't they know he was trying to kill himself?

He knew that he was genetically superior to most. The man who'd made Vincent Jerome thought that perhaps the "accident" damaged Eugene's ears as well. Or he just didn't care if Eugene heard. That still didn't understand why he was talking so softly.

"He's got an expiration date you wouldn't believe. The guy's practically gonna live forever. He's got an I.Q. off the register. Better than twenty/twenty in both eyes. And the heart of an ox. He could run through a wall. If he could still run."

"Gonna live forever." Not really. He'd told Vincent he was traveling too. And he intended to.

Vincent had gone through what had appeared to be a painful experience to become Jerome. Especially the leg thing…

And he turned out to be a much better Jerome Eugene Morrow than the real Jerome Eugene Morrow ever was. That was why Eugene was going to let Vincent be him. For the rest of time. For as long as he desired.

Eugene had rolled himself over to the incinerator, and now was just staring at it, a blank look upon his face. Steeling himself, Eugene used his arms to vault from the wheelchair, landing with the familiar painful thud. The cold metal of the stairs bit into his hands as he pulled himself up. Ever since the "accident" his arms had gotten stronger. It wasn't too difficult for Jerome Eugene Morrow to open the incinerator door and pull himself in. Eugene pulled his knees up to his chest, fitting comfortably inside the incinerator. He shut the door, with only the slightest hesitation before moving down a little more, deeper inside the thing that would claim his life.

What if he was wrong? What if he actually had something to live for, something to stay for? Vincent would only be gone a year… what would he do when he came back and found the man he was pretending to be was dead? His remains incinerated?

The answer presented itself. Irene. The pretty woman who worked at Gattaca. Yeah… Vincent'd be fine.

Eugene reached into his coat, producing his medal. His silver medal.

Jerome Eugene Morrow was never meant to be one step down on the podium. Never meant to be second best. He'd been told that his whole life: "Jerome, You've got everything you need. All the genes you need to be the best. Don't let us down."

Yes… Jerome had everything he needed. But he hadn't won. He gave it his all, and still he failed. And when he tried to kill himself, he survived. Product of his genetically superior self?

He lifted the medal up, looping it around his neck.

Jerome Eugene Morrow was second best, but Vincent had turned him into something wonderful. Jerome Morrow, Navigator First Class at Gattaca. Going off on a one year mission to Titan. And to think Vincent had been worried about him… Worried about Eugene alone for a year. Eugene had said, "I'm going to finish this."

He's been half talking about the wine, and half about what he'd started when he walked in front of that car. 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.' He thought. But at the time, he hadn't wanted to worry the man who'd become him, and quickly changed the subject.

It was odd. All his life, Eugene had been told that he didn't need anyone, only excellence. If he had excellence, he'd have happiness. But he'd come in second, and that wasn't excellence. There was no way he should have finished second.

But he had.

Eugene lifted the medal, looking at it, studying it. After he'd gotten it, he'd moped about in his hotel room, not even wanting to drink. He was far too sober for it to be healthy. Then it was as if he occupied someone else's body. Controlling his own body with a joystick from far away. He knew exactly what he was doing, moving mechanically. He walked right in front of that car, knowing he would die.

But he didn't.

After that, he figured someone should benefit from all this, and allowed himself to be rented out to Vincent.

Suddenly he found himself caring about the In-Valid. The God-child. It was like watching his child grow, or his kid brother reach a dream. Do things in life the real Jerome Eugene Morrow couldn't. Never even dreamed of doing. Eugene had been told that all he needed in life was to be the best. But he wasn't the best. What else was he supposed to do? He didn't know anything else of life except the impulse to be "the best".

But Vincent had worked for what he wanted, sacrificed to be Navigator first class at Gattaca. And Eugene was proud of him.

Vincent taught him something. Just because you're engineered for excellence, that doesn't bring happiness, nor does it gurrentee ecvellene. Eugene wasn't happy, nor did he excel. He was engineered for the world, but he couldn't understand it. Everything he'd known, been taught and lived by was… wrong, for lack of a better term. He was wrong…

Eugene wasn't really sure he liked Vincent. That if they'd met under different circumstances, that they'd be friends. Eugene still wasn't sure what a "friend" was, the kind that you didn't have to pay to get them to stay. But Eugene was proud of the de-gene-erate nonetheless. He was proving to be a better Jerome Eugene Morrow than he could ever be.

Eugene let the medal drop, and fall back into place around his neck. This was it. It was time. He reached out and send the incinerator a signal to… incinerate. Too late to turn back now.

Five seconds until death.

It was amazing. Five seconds seemed like five hours. Eugene would feel everything. The metal wall pressing against his back, the cold seeping through his clothes. He could feel the medal's weight around his neck and against his chest. And, as always, the numbness that was his legs.

Where he was going, his legs wouldn't matter. Where he was going, everyone would go at some point. Eugene didn't know what to expect, he'd never been one for religion. But he knew excellence, or lack there of, shouldn't and wouldn't matter.

Jerome Eugene Morrow shut his eyes, never to open them again. It didn't hurt. There was a rush of pleasant heat, then nothingness

He was traveling too.

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**I don't own anything. At all. And I figured there had to be a reason why Eugene killed himself, and this was my take on it. **


End file.
